What She Needs is What He Wants
by Scribe Teradia
Summary: Somehow, he always knew exactly what she needed. But there are two sides to every story. WARNINGS for very foul language and some adult content.
1. Chapter 1  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

**Author's Note:** There are two sides to every story. I considered posting these stories separately, but it really only works if it's read in the order I have it here. What She Needs chapters are Hermione's point of view, and What He Wants chapters are the same events viewed from Theo's side of things. It's less complicated than it sounds, I promise.

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><p><span>What She Needs  What He Wants

by Scribe Teradia

**What She Needs - Chapter 1**

Somehow, he always knew just what she needed.

The day of Dumbledore's funeral, after Harry and Ginny had gone off somewhere to be alone, Hermione sought refuge in the library, sought the comfort of the familiar bookshelves, and searched in vain for answers. It was the first she'd had time to herself since the night their Headmaster died, but she knew this might be her last visit to the library for a while, and she wanted to make good use of the time. When Harry had first told them about horcruxes, she'd gone searching the shelves for answers and found nothing, but she was sure there had to be something useful in one of the dusty old volumes, there just had to be.

Chin in her hand, elbow resting on the table, she was paging through the third book and growing more frustrated by the minute when someone cleared his throat nearby. Straightening, she looked up and was surprised to find Theodore Nott standing within arms' reach of her, a book held in one hand. It was thick, and looked old, and her fingers twitched at the sight of it, wanting so badly to take it from him, though she held herself back because she didn't know why he was there, so she adopted an expression of cool imperiousness instead. "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, Granger, I think I might be the one to help you." He took a half-step toward her, and it was everything she could do not to lean away from him as he closed the distance between them, but she was glad afterwards that she'd held her ground, because all he did was set the book on the table in front of her. "Six hours until curfew," he said, and before she could open her mouth to tell him that she knew perfectly well when curfew was he added, "I'll need this back by then." Then he turned on his heel and disappeared around a bookcase, with a swirl of black robes to mark his passing. Only the book remained behind, testament to the fact that she hadn't just daydreamed the encounter.

Hermione ran a hand over the black leather cover of the book, then recoiled and wiped her hand on her robes, her mouth twisting in distaste. She'd never before encountered a book she didn't like (even the Care of Magical Creatures ones hadn't been all that bad, really), but this one just felt... wrong, somehow. There was no title on the front cover, nor was there one on the spine, and finally she was forced to touch it again, to peel the cover back from the yellowed pages, the rest of her body leaning away from it until she finally had it open. Cramped, uneven handwriting identified the book as 'The Collected Research of Mr. Alphonse T. Nott, 1502', and she withdrew her hand again, once more wiping it on her robes.

She took a moment to look around her, but the library was empty of people, so there was no one to witness her interaction with the book that was disturbing just to touch. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she turned the page and began to read, picking out the words with only a little difficulty, and by the third page she'd discovered why Theodore had thought it would be helpful. Quill in hand, she paged through it as quickly as she could manage, skimming the text for pertinent passages to copy, and the farther she got the more grateful she was that she'd skipped breakfast and lunch. Six hours later, she slammed it shut and shoved it across the table, not looking up even though she knew he was already there, caught a glimpse of his hand as he picked it up. Gathering her things together, she shoved them into her bookbag and stood up so fast she almost knocked her chair over, edging around the table and toward the exit, all without looking at him.

Down the hall, up a flight of stairs, around a corner to the nearest girls' bathroom, where she was violently ill even though she'd had nothing to eat or drink all day, the taste of bile bitter in her throat. She'd wanted answers, and she'd gotten them, but she couldn't help but wonder at the price, with the words still lingering in her head, making her feel tainted, impure. Later, she would share some of the knowledge with Harry and Ron, the better to finally track down and destroy the horcruxes, but she would tell them nothing of how she came by it, would never mention the boy or his book, keeping the secret to herself as she so often did with things she didn't think they could handle.


	2. Chapter 1  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 1<strong>

He had always been aware of her, more aware of her than Malfoy ever had been and certainly more attentive than her so-called 'friends'. If not for the stigma of their births separating them, he would have approached her sooner; as it was, he was risking everything to give her the book when he did, but he was tired of sitting back and doing nothing, tired of being the silent observer. He had been in the library during her first frantic search through the stacks, before Dumbledore's death, and while he didn't know why she was looking at books on artifice and dark magic, he recognized the word 'horcrux' when he found it scribbled on a scrap of parchment. When Malfoy finally returned triumphant to the common room, Theo knew that he'd found success in whatever it was he'd been plotting all year, and he knew that the chaos of Malfoy's plot would give him the opportunity he needed to slip through the cracks of Hogwarts' vaunted security.

All he needed was five minutes in his father's study, and he wasn't all that worried about being caught because his father - shining example of a Death Eater that he was - was still languishing in a cell in Azkaban after last year's less-than-brilliant attack on the Ministry. On some level, Theo understood Malfoy's distress, knew the Dark Lord had come down hard on the Malfoys after the plan failed to net him the prophecy, and sometimes late at night when all was quiet except for the faint sounds of Draco's muffled sobs he found himself thanking Merlin or God or whoever he had to thank for remaining unnoticed.

In and out, that's all he needed, knowing exactly where the book was, knowing precisely how to pick apart the careful wards set in place by his ancestor, having done it back at Christmastime just to prove to himself that he could. He slipped out of the gates in the chaos of the attack, and from there it was easy enough to Apparate to the Nott manor house, pick apart the wards, and take the book, replacing the wards with his own set, carefully crafted, though really they weren't even necessary. Wrapping the book in a hastily-conjured piece of white silk, he tucked it into his robes and returned to the school, just in time to see the Dark Mark over the tower and hear the sounds of Draco's flight with Snape.

No one asked where he'd been; either they simply assumed that Malfoy had given him an assignment for a specific area (which idea was ludicrous, because there was no way he'd ever take orders from that arrogant little ferret-faced excuse for a Slytherin princeling), or they simply didn't care. He returned to his dorm without running into any of his classmates, and pulled the curtains closed around his bed, setting the book down and carefully peeling away the silk. It was superstition that had led to him wrapping the book in it, irrational and illogical to be sure but it had felt like a necessary precaution at the time. Theo's mother had given him better advice on the lingering effects of dark objects than Professor Trelawney could ever have hoped to achieve, but then Trelawney's visions were a cheap parlour trick compared to Mrs. Nott in her prime, and Theo was inclined to take her advice in these dark and uncertain times... at least so long as no one was looking.

His classmates would have scoffed at the idea of a book being evil, but he had heard what happened with Ginny Weasley and a certain diary, and there were things in his ancestor's journal that suggested that his discomfort might not be wholly unfounded. Still, if Granger was looking for information on horcruxes, she wasn't going to find it in the Hogwarts library no matter how hard she looked.

It wasn't until the day of Dumbledore's funeral that he was able to give it to her. He had removed it from the silk wrapping, and it just felt _wrong_ in his hand, though he was careful not to show any discomfort when he cleared his throat. She blinked up at him, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out why he was there, her brown eyes riveted completely on the book in his hand. "Can I help you with something?" She tried to sound cool and imperious, Gryffindor's vaunted know-it-all, but he knew her well enough to know that it was a facade, because her fingers were twitching, betraying her desire for the mysterious book.

"Actually, Granger, I think I might be the one to help you." He took a half step toward her, and he could tell she was trying not to back away from him, but he simply set the book down in front of her before stepping back. "Six hours until curfew." Her mouth opened, preparing her retort that she knew perfectly well when curfew was, but before she could say anything he added, "I'll need this back by then." He nodded toward the journal, then turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her alone with the book, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to stay, to watch her pick through it, to be on hand for whatever questions she might have, knowing she would surely have questions about the material, but to do so would put both of them in danger.

Instead, he roamed the halls, not wanting to join the rest of his House in the Slytherin commons, where Pansy was holding court among Malfoy's followers and bemoaning the loss of her boyfriend. He wasn't ready to go back to pretending just yet, too high on adrenaline from having approached Granger; giving her the book was tantamount to treason against the Dark Lord, he was absolutely certain that if any of his fellow Slytherins were to learn about it he'd be in all kinds of trouble. His steps slowed as he realized his feet had taken him to the Astronomy Tower, and he stopped at the base of the stairs, unwilling to ascend to the place where the Headmaster had been murdered.

Theo turned away from the tower, heading back the way he'd come, thinking of Malfoy and what he'd become, wondering if the same would be asked of him, if his father ever came home, wondering if he would make the same choice, in Malfoy's place. He liked to think that he would refuse the Mark, refuse to become just another soldier in the Dark Lord's army, that he would be strong enough to say no, but mostly he hoped that Granger and her friends would succeed, that good would win out. Preferably before his father was released from Azkaban, because he had a better chance of retaining his free will without the demands of family weighing on him. Family, after all, had led to Draco's downfall.

Six hours seemed like an eternity, but he arrived a full three minutes early, not drawing her attention to his presence but watching her work feverishly through the rest of the book, wiping her hand on her robes every time she turned a page, taking meticulous notes with her other hand. When it had been precisely six hours, she slammed the book shut and shoved it across the table at him, without looking up, so very punctual about relinquishing the journal that it was as if a timepiece had been ticking away in that busy-busy brain of hers. His fingers closed around the book, sliding it into the pocket of his robes that was still lined with the white silk he'd taken it from, and he waited until she'd stood up from the table and walked around him before giving in to the urge to wipe his hand on his robes. She fled the library, not quite running but close enough that it really made no difference, and he thought about trailing her, then decided that such a thing would be unwise. Instead, he moved around the table, pushed her chair back in, then left the library at a steady walk, heading for the dungeons and the Slytherin common room, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.


	3. Chapter 2  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 2<strong>

Sometimes he knew even before she did.

After the dust had finally settled and things had started to go back to normal (as 'normal' as things ever got in the wizarding world, anyway), Hermione returned to Hogwarts to finish her schooling. Harry and Ron had both accepted the loophole Kingsley found to get them into Auror training, taking NEWT-equivalency tests that everyone swore were just as good as the real thing, but to her it felt like cheating, so back to school she went.

That year was one of the loneliest of her entire life, with so many of her friends and classmates gone. Neville had returned, and so had Seamus and Lavender, but Lavender was still holding a grudge over Ron, and since she was now dating Seamus he tended to avoid Hermione in order to stay in his girlfriend's good graces. There were other students from their year, from other Houses, but she didn't really know any of them even to say hello to... and then there were the Slytherins. Frankly, she'd been rather surprised to see them, even though she'd already heard from McGonagall that many of them had decided to return.

Malfoy had come back, as had Pansy Parkinson, though they didn't appear to still be dating, so far as Hermione could tell. Blaise Zabini she remembered from Professor Slughorn's little gatherings, and he would nod at her in passing, which was a step up from ignoring her completely. Most puzzling of all was Theodore Nott: he was in a number of her classes, but she hadn't given this much thought until shortly before Halloween, when the new Potions professor assigned them to work together for a group project. The school seemed full of new staff, and while she had fewer problems in Potions under the impartial Professor Murdoch than she had under Snape, she had found the coursework to be even more challenging than when Slughorn had taught the class.

Like Professor Snape, Murdoch had earned the rank of Potions Master at a fairly young age (one of the Ravenclaw girls had remarked offhand that he'd been a year behind Snape, in school), and he taught from the textbook only half the time. It was quite obvious that he was passionate about Potions, and he openly encouraged experimentation with established formulae, something that had been unheard of in Snape's classroom. Never mind that she'd seen proof of the fact Snape had been just as experimental in his day, it was quite the radical concept to the students who'd learned Potions under the strict Slytherin's eye, and it proved to be nearly as frustrating as watching Harry with that illicit book had been.

For all that Harry and Ron and even Ginny had often teased her about being a know-it-all, her excellent grades had been the result of a great deal of hard work. It wasn't that she underestimated her own intellect, but Hermione knew very well that her strengths lay in concrete knowledge and hard facts, even rote memorization; she wasn't lacking in brains, to be sure, but she didn't do as well when deviating from the written word and relying on instinct. Harry and even Ron had always been better at that sort of thing, it was part of why she was rubbish at flying, and as a result she found herself working twice as hard in Potions than she ever had before.

The group assignment had caught them all off guard, even more so when Professor Murdoch took it upon himself to assign partners to those students who normally sat by themselves. Hermione noted down the specific instructions they were given, focusing on her parchment and not the Slytherin who was still sitting at his table; a glance at her watch confirmed that the class session was almost over. Murdoch dismissed them a few minutes later, and she took her time gathering her things together, waiting for the rest of her classmates to leave before making her own way out.

She headed to the library for her free period, trying to remember what she knew of Nott. His father had been a Death Eater, and the senior Nott had been killed in the second Battle of Hogwarts, but so far as she knew his son had never even attempted to follow in his father's footsteps. Technically, Theodore was part of Malfoy's circle of friends, and she'd seen him in Pansy's company once or twice, as well as Zabini's, but she couldn't actually recall having seen him with Malfoy except on the outer fringes of the group.

Lost in thought, Hermione settled at her usual table in the library, not noticing that someone else was there until he cleared his throat. She looked up, startled, and her thoughts momentarily scattered at the sight of the young man she'd just been thinking about. 'His eyes are blue,' she thought to herself, when she was able to think coherently again, and she wondered why she'd never noticed before. Was she really in the habit of not paying much attention to her classmates? "Oh, uhm, hello," she said, quietly. "Can I call you Theodore, or do you prefer Nott?"

His mouth twitched, and she realized he was smirking at her, though the expression was less off-putting on him than on Malfoy, perhaps because it wasn't one he wore on a regular basis. "Theo."

"Beg pardon?" She was mentally cursing herself with some of Ron's favorite foul language, and sternly told herself to pay attention.

"You may call me Theo. I have a list of suggested improvements that can be done to the assigned potion." He slid a piece of parchment across the table, and she unrolled it, somewhat surprised by the elegant handwriting, which made her own look like a scrawl in comparison.

"Already?" she asked, silently cursing again at not being able to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"I suspected this project was coming, after last week's lecture, and did some preparation in advance. Didn't occur to me that he'd assign partners, though. We can go in a different direction, if you'd rather." He sounded so nonchalant and blase about it, but the parchment was nearly four feet long, and had obviously taken some time to compile.

"No, that's all right, this is fine." Hermione swallowed hard and rolled the parchment back up, to hand it back to him. She was fighting tears, and hated herself for it, hated the fact that he was clearly better at this subject than she'd ever guessed, hated that she was so bloody jealous of him because of it. From what she'd read of the meticulous notes, the intuition that she seemed to lack in Potion-making was not something Theo was missing, and she was trying desperately not to let on how much she loathed him for making her feel inadequate.

He brushed her hand with his long, thin fingers, shaking his head. "You can keep that. I made a copy while I was waiting for you to get here." If he noticed her distress, he gave no sign of it, instead turning his attention to his planner, giving her space to regain her composure before saying, still in that bland and nonchalant tone, "We should schedule a time to get together and work on this."

Flipping open her own leather-bound schedule book, she nodded, and for several minutes they went over their schedules, finally narrowing free times down to work on their project. Once he was sure the times were in his book, he closed it and tucked it away, then pushed back his chair and stood, turning and walking away without bothering to bid her farewell.


	4. Chapter 2  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 2<strong>

When the dust finally settled, Theo found himself in possession of quite a bit of wealth, much of which was tied up with the Malfoys in a number of various business interests. For all the pureblood rhetoric and disdain for the mundane inner workings of the business world, his father had been a shrewd businessman, as evidenced by the stack of ledgers Theo found in the old man's desk. He was halfway through them when he realized what he was looking at, and he found himself wishing there was a more convenient method for communication than calling by Floo or sending out owls, especially since he only had the one bird; he settled for sending the owl to Pansy, who always seemed to be in the loop, and by late afternoon the circle had assembled at the manor house.

In theory, they were a circle of friends, but Theo couldn't honestly say he'd been very friendly with any of them prior to that afternoon. Malfoy was an obnoxious prat whose arrogance was still unparalleled among Slytherins, but for once Parkinson wasn't falling all over herself with adoration, which suggested to Theo that perhaps she'd finally come to her senses. Zabini's presence was his way of insuring they'd play nicely with each other, because few people did revenge quite like Blaise, and they'd had an unspoken understanding ever since first year. He sat them down with tea and scones provided by a weedy house elf, and outlined what he'd found among his father's papers, as well as his plans for the information. It was bold, it was brilliant, it was unprecedented and no one would see it coming; it was, as Pansy so aptly stated, "So typically Theo," and it was the reason the four of them returned to Hogwarts.

Changes were evident all over the castle, from the staff to the classrooms to the occasional 'battle scars' on the walls that hadn't been repaired yet. He hadn't been at all surprised to see Granger among the others at the Gryffindor table, nor was he surprised to find Potter and Weasley missing; the Boy-Who-Lived and his redheaded best friend had never been fans of such trivial things as books or studying or exams. With Snape no longer lording over Slytherin and the dungeons, Zabini had elected not to continue Potions, leaving Nott on his own in the class for the first time in seven years, though he didn't suffer for lack of a partner. Theo rather liked Potions, and found the new Professor Murdoch a welcome change, enjoying the freedom to do more than just brew Potions from established formulae. From his desk near the back of the room, he watched Granger struggle and was almost relieved to be paired with her for the group project, knowing it would give him an opportunity to help her without being obvious about it.

She was too busy looking away from him, the bushy hair hiding her face, so he had no way of knowing what she was thinking. Gathering his books together, he left the class soon after they were dismissed, making use of a shortcut he knew of in order to make it to the library before her, where he settled at her usual table and waited. When she finally arrived, several minutes later, she sat down without even looking at him, and he cleared his throat to get her attention, wondering if she'd even noticed that he was sitting there. The startled expression on her face when she looked up suggested she hadn't. "Oh, uhm, hello," she said, after a moment spent studying him. "Can I call you Theodore, or do you prefer Nott?"

It sounded almost like a pun, and he fought the urge to smile because he knew she hadn't realized it. "Theo."

"Beg pardon?" She blinked at him, and it took everything he had not to laugh in her face, or lean across the table and snog her senseless, anything to get her to just _pay attention_ to him.

He took a calming breath and clarified, "You may call me Theo. I have a list of suggested improvements that can be done to the assigned potion." He slid the parchment across the table at her, the copy he'd made while waiting, and tried not to look smug at her surprised expression.

"Already?" He couldn't really fault her for the disbelief in her voice, they'd only just been assigned the thing some fifteen minutes ago.

"I suspected this project was coming, after last week's lecture, and did some preparation in advance," he explained. It was entirely true, and he'd spent a week working on those notes, but he didn't want her to feel pressured. "Didn't occur to me that he'd assign partners, though. We can go in a different direction, if you'd rather." He did his best to sound nonchalant, almost bored, perfectly willing to scrap the whole thing if she wanted him to.

"No, that's all right, this is fine." She rolled the parchment back up and made to pass it back to him, and he realized he'd upset her, with his thorough preparation, by passing it off as the work of a few minutes rather than days of research. Had she been in his place, she'd have been insistent, demanding, unwilling to throw away all her hard work for the sake of someone else's feelings, and he'd made a mistake by not acknowledging his own effort.

Brushing her hand with his fingers, Theo shook his head. "You can keep that. I made a copy while I was waiting for you to get here." He withdrew his hand and turned his attention to his books, giving her space to recover her composure while silently cursing himself for being such a callous fucking Slytherin. Finally, he returned to the task at hand, flipping open his planner and saying, "We should schedule a time to get together and work on this."

The reminder seemed to snap her back to herself, and they spent several minutes comparing schedules, finally agreeing on several dates that wrote themselves into his planner as soon as they'd been finalized. Closing the book, Theo gathered his things and stood, turning his back on her and walking away before he could betray himself any further by disclosing how much he was looking forward to the assignment. It was the perfect excuse to spend time in her company without looking at all strange, so long as he kept a tight rein on himself and let her do most of the talking; at the very least, it would open the doorway to a potential friendship, or at least that's what he told himself. He could do worse for an ally than Hermione Granger.


	5. Chapter 3  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 3<strong>

Even if she didn't think she needed anything.

Hermione glared at the parchment on her desk. It was her third draft of a document that was meant to change the laws involving house elves, and it had been sent back to her in the same condition as the previous two, with the word 'DENIED' stamped on it in red ink. She gritted her teeth and skimmed over the notes that had been 'helpfully' penned in the margins in that same red ink, the officious-looking script belonging to the pompous, self-important Percy Weasley, who had kindly delivered the rejected proposal to her in person with an apologetic look before fleeing her vicinity.

There was a quiet rustling sound, and then a folder landed on top of the parchment, obscuring the hateful red letters from her sight. She looked up, annoyed, but her expression turned to one of surprise when she saw that her visitor was Theo. He had joined the Magical Law Enforcement department of the Ministry, but she knew most of his time was spent on paperwork, had heard from Harry and Ron that Kingsley was making him pull more than his weight, to earn his place as an Auror. She thought this was rather unfair, but she knew it was none of her business, and she had learned quickly not to bother Kingsley with things that were none of her business. "What's this?" she asked, indicating the file with one hand while attempting to get the other hand out of her hair.

"House elf legislation from the United States," he replied, shrugging as if it was nothing more than a routine file. He started going into details, but she tuned him out once her hand was free, picking up the file.

Paging through it for a quick glance, it took her a minute to register that he'd stopped talking, and she blinked up at him. "Theo?" His face was blank, expressionless, and she wondered for a moment why he'd gone all quiet on her, then realized he was staring at her hand. Her left hand, with the engagement ring Ron had given her just a few days ago.

"Best wishes on your engagement," he finally said. She could feel her face heat at his words, and wondered why she was so bothered by them, because it wasn't as if they were friends. He barely qualified as an acquaintance, perhaps a co-worker, at best, she owed him nothing...

"Thank you," she replied, quietly. She cleared her throat and gestured at the folder with her other hand, setting it back on her desk. "For this, too. You didn't have to get this."

"I knew it would help if you had some basis for comparison." He shrugged again, then turned and left her office, to return to whatever it was he'd been doing before he'd come by with the file. Hermione was left feeling oddly guilty, as though she'd disappointed him somehow, despite the fact that it was quite ridiculous for her to feel that way.


	6. Chapter 3  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 3<strong>

"Denied again."

Theo looked up as Pansy perched on the edge of his desk with the latest news on Granger's house-elf legislation. It appeared their relationship was on again today, and he wondered if it had anything to do with Granger's most recent defeat before the Wizengamot. He chose not to respond to her subtle gloating, instead studying her for a moment before asking, "Dinner tonight?"

She slid off the desk, leaned in to kiss his cheek - which provided a rather tantalizing view of her otherwise unremarkable cleavage - and ruffled his hair with her fingers. "Your place or mine, darling?" Her voice, her figure, her lips on his cheek, all of these were reminders that she wasn't what he wanted, but she was what he'd settled for, when he'd learned Granger's infatuation with Weasley remained strong even though she deserved better.

He got to his feet, snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissed her hard the way he'd often thought of kissing Granger, then pinched her arse and let her go. "Yours. I'll see you at six, we can go over the financials before we eat."

"Business first?" Pansy pouted, but he saw through the facade, and she quickly gave it up when the only response she got from him was a blank stare. "Fine, fine, I'll go see Malfoy, but you owe me, Theo." She tossed her head and turned to leave, and he watched her backside as she sashayed toward the door, then shook himself and sighed, bending to retrieve a file from his desk drawer. Someday, he really ought to stop pretending, before it all came crashing down on his head.

He found Granger in her office, glaring at the carefully-drafted (he hadn't actually seen it, but he assumed it was carefully drafted, expected no less of her) document, one hand fisted in her hair and propping up her head, her shoulders slumped in defeat. It was rare to see her defeated, and he secretly enjoyed seeing her vulnerable, even though he hated himself for enjoying her misery. He moved silently, so that she had no clue he was there until he dropped the folder on her desk and into her line of sight, and she looked up, annoyed, though it changed quickly to surprise when she saw him. "What's this?"

"House elf legislation in the United States," he replied, suppressing a smirk at the way she fought to free her hand from her hair. "They've done some pretty radical things over there, and I got the rundown of the history for..." His voice trailed off, as her hand finally came into view, the flash of the diamond on her ring finger impossible to miss and momentarily wiping his mind of every thought except the shout of denial he didn't dare voice.

By the time she realized he'd stopped talking, he'd already recovered enough to put on that blank, expressionless mask that he'd learned from Zabini. "Theo?" She sounded confused, as if she'd sensed that the atmosphere had grown suddenly awkward, between them, though he knew her well enough to know otherwise, because she could be frustratingly obtuse about things when she wanted to be.

"Best wishes on your engagement," he finally said. The words were formal, stilted, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to say them with the chilly formality and not spit them out like the foul things they were. He didn't want to wish her well, especially not when he knew she was throwing her life away on the bloody fucking _Weasel_, but he was too well-mannered to do otherwise, at least in public, and the door was still open.

"Thank you," she replied, her face reddening. He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment over being caught out or some bizarre modesty in the face of his formality or something else entirely that was making her blush, and right at that moment he decided he didn't care, he really didn't care, and the little voice that whispered otherwise was told to shut the bloody hell up. She lifted the folder and added, "For this, too. You didn't have to get this."

"I knew it would help if you had some basis for comparison." He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, even though it had taken him two weeks to call in the right sequence of favors, to compile everything in that file. There was no way he'd ever let her know that, though, and he left her office before he was forced to do something he knew he'd regret later.

Back at his desk, he wrote a hasty note to Pansy, requesting that she meet him at her place in half an hour, and never mind the financials. Then he made some vague excuse to his superior about needing to attend to some personal business before heading for the rebuilt atrium and the secure Apparition points. A quick stop to a jeweler in Diagon before he arrived at Pansy's, where he pinned her to the wall and kissed her hard, then fucked her harder. Eventually, they made it to her bed, and at some point he finally got around to proposing, but it still wasn't what he wanted, not by a long shot.


	7. Chapter 4  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 4<strong>

Whether or not she wanted it.

Hermione and Ron were married in the spring, at the Burrow. It was as small a celebration as they could possibly manage, though 'small' was entirely relative when it came to the Weasley clan. Molly had fretted and fussed, certain that things could have been grander, should have been grander, but Hermione insisted she didn't want a spectacle. She had never been one of those girls to daydream about a fancy dress, an elaborate cake, and all the other trappings that she was beginning to associate with weddings. Matrimony shouldn't be so complicated, in her opinion, and Ron certainly wasn't going to argue with her about it.

Simple, relatively small, and over with quickly, the sooner to get to the quaint little vacation cottage Ron had found in the countryside for them to spend their honeymoon, the first time they'd been truly alone together since the end of the war. They made good use of the time, the first night and the day afterward, and they'd been married two full days before they got around to opening their wedding gifts.

She almost overlooked the small package wrapped in silver paper and adorned with a green bow. Ron was digging through a box from George, the contents of which had made both of them turn red before bursting into laughter, and she was watching him root through it with a fond smile when she spotted the errant gift, probably shoved aside by Ron in his haste to get at larger, more important-looking presents.

Removing the wrapping paper revealed a book entitled 'Charms for the Domestically Challenged', and Hermione's smile faded, her heart pounding as she stared at the words. 'Domestically Challenged' was an apt description, and she knew Ron wasn't much better, and she'd spent the months prior to the wedding secretly fretting that they'd be able to make things work because she knew he was used to being mothered and her household skills were limited to a few cleaning charms and being able to make tea and sandwiches. Her hands shook as she pulled back the cover, though she wasn't at all surprised to find a card tucked inside - Theo would never be so crass as to deface a book by writing in it. It wasn't signed, but she recognized his handwriting, and the message 'Try not to burn the house down' was exactly the sort of dry humor she'd come to associate with the man. Card in hand, she dropped the book and fled to the bathroom, drawing her wand to soundproof the door before bursting into tears.


	8. Chapter 4  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 4<strong>

Pansy had wanted a spectacle, and was disappointed when she received a flat denial from Theo. When she kicked up a fuss, he finally pointed out that it was better not to call attention to their alliance-by-matrimony, found some perfectly logical and perfectly Slytherin excuses to keep it quiet. He didn't waste time, either, once the date was announced for the Weasley-Granger ceremony. They found a wizard to preside over the marriage oath, coaxed Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass to witness the farce, and afterward Theo drank so much he didn't really remember making it to bed when he finally woke up in the morning, though Pansy's attitude suggested he'd performed up to his usual standards.

He didn't expect an invitation to Granger's wedding, and therefore wasn't disappointed when one never came, though there were days when he wondered what it would be like to crash the wedding and protest and finally declare his feelings for her. Once his thoughts took him far enough to be thinking of children when reality burst his little bubble and he remembered that she barely even knew he existed. That he sent her a wedding present was purely by chance, and only because he was in one of his moods the day he was in the bookstore and spotted the thing. 'Charms for the Domestically Challenged' was the title, and he'd remembered a study session where Granger confessed she was hopeless at anything domestic beyond a few cleaning charms and being able to make tea.

After it was bought and wrapped and sent on its way, he felt guilty, because it had been cruel, especially the card tucked inside that had 'Try not to burn the house down' written on it. Childish, perhaps, but it was the most he was willing to risk for a gesture of protest. The day of Granger's wedding, he stayed home with Pansy, indulging his wife's every sexual fantasy and then some, and was almost successful in his goal of not thinking about the woman he wanted, entirely focused on the one he'd ended up with.


	9. Chapter 5  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 5<strong>

Sometimes she didn't even realize it until after the fact.

The worst part of being an Auror, Hermione reflected sourly as she headed to her office, was the fear. Not fear from the bad guys, in fact too often there was little to no reaction among the remaining Death Eaters rooted out of hiding or the new threats that seemed to crop up almost daily. No, it was the fear of the average citizen that was often the biggest obstacle to Magical Law Enforcement in the post-war era. Between Fudge's blatant mishandling of Ministry resources when his anti-Dumbledore paranoia was at its worst and Voldemort's coup of the Ministry as a whole before Harry finally killed him, the people had grown wary of the established order. Harry, of course, never had any trouble getting witnesses to cooperate, and one would think that, as his best friend, Hermione would be given the same consideration, but apparently the four years she'd spent out of the spotlight in the hell otherwise known as the wizarding legal system had been long enough for people to forget who she was.

After finally effecting some change in the laws about house elves, she'd moved on to interspecies legislation, with marginally more success. When she'd eventually decided to join the Auror program, she'd initially refused Kingsley's offer to fast-track her through the training based on previous experience, but after a week in the company of raw recruits fresh out of Hogwarts, she'd changed her mind. Some days, it still felt as if she'd cheated, but mostly she was grateful it meant she merited an actual office with a door, which slammed with a satisfying bang.

"Better luck next time?"

Hermione swore and turned around, glaring at the tall, dark-haired wizard who'd spoken. "Merlin's bollocks, Theodore, I told you to wait!" He was leaning against her desk, arms folded, that faint trace of a smirk on his face. It bothered her, although she didn't like to think about why it bothered her, because it had very little to do with that smug expression and the arrogance that she knew was just a well-justified self-assurance.

"And I was waiting," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "My apologies if I prefer your office to what passes for my desk. It's quieter here, for one."

The subtle reminder that she had attained in less than two years what he'd failed to earn in nearly six, the dig that she was in an office while he was relegated to a cubicle and a desk in the 'bullpen' of the MLE floor. Hermione's anger disappeared, snuffed out by the crushing weight of the wave of guilt that washed over her. She sighed, flicking a strand of hair from her face and walking around her desk to sit in her chair. "You might as well head out, it doesn't look as though we'll be accomplishing anything today. She's more scared of us than she is of whoever killed her husband."

"You think she knows who did it." It wasn't a question, the way it would have been with Ron or Harry. It was one of the reasons she liked working with Theo, because she never had to explain herself, never had to wait for him to catch up.

"I'm almost positive she knows who did it. I may not be the people-person you are, Theo, but I'm not completely hopeless at reading witnesses." She sighed, flipping open the file again and glaring at it in the vain hope that it would tell her something more than she'd been able to get from the witness.

"You're over-thinking again," he said, after several minutes of silence. Hermione's head snapped up, and she glared at him again, earning another smirk. She opened her mouth to say something, then realized she had no snappy comeback, and closed it again. "You need to take a step back."

"How can I take a step back when there's a killer out there somewhere?" she retorted.

"We won't catch him any faster by you working yourself into a nervous breakdown," he shot back. "You need to get out, relax, do something for yourself."

"I can't," she protested shaking her head. "It feels too much like giving up."

"Merlin forbid a Gryffindor ever give up," he drawled, smirking at her again.

"Where's your Slytherin ambition, Theo? You should be wanting this as much as I do."

"Oh, I do, I assure you." There was an intensity in his eyes, a note in his voice that set off warning bells in her head, and she looked away from him, back at the paperwork.

She heard him unfold his arms, push away from the desk, and took that to mean he was finally going to leave her alone. Instead, he took her right hand in both of his, and her breath caught at the contact, her head automatically lifting, her eyes seeking his face. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you relax," he replied calmly, his attention focused entirely on her hand as he began to massage it, beginning with the palm. She noticed that his hands were warmer than hers, and he seemed to leave some of that heat behind as he worked his way around her palm and then along her fingers. "Your lines are so typically Gryffindor," he murmured, his voice making her jump after several minutes of silence.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, yanking her hand away.

Undaunted, he reached for her left hand. She initially resisted, but he arched an eyebrow at her in challenge, and she relented. "I'm not sure I should explain myself, given your predisposition toward all things Divination-related."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes, and caught him smirking at her again. "Oh, come on, Theo. You can't tell me you actually believe in that nonsense Trelawney was always saying?"

"Trelawney? No." Theo shook his head, his attention still focused on her hand, which made his expression impossible to read. "Not all of it is nonsense, though, especially if one has the proper instruction in interpretation."

Silence fell, again, as she tried to figure out what he was talking about, tried to put it into context with what else she knew about him; admittedly, she didn't know all that much, even though they'd been partnered for over a year. Finally, he let go of her hand, and she flexed her fingers, then looked up at him quizzically. "Theo?" she began, unsure of what question she should ask him first, or if she should even be asking. There were so many walls between them, so many boundaries, and she wasn't sure it was a good idea to start breaching them, but curiosity demanded satisfaction.

"My mother was a Seer." He said it before she could make up her mind on a question, looking away from her so that she couldn't see his face, and she knew that she was dangerously close to crossing a line with him, even if she wasn't sure what the line meant.

"Theo," she began, but whatever she was going to say was lost as her office door opened with a bang to admit her husband.

"'Mione, I-" Ron cut himself short as he spotted Theo, and his eyes narrowed. "Oi. What's _he_ doing in here?"

Hermione let out a tired sigh. "Ronald, Theo's my partner, remember? You and Harry are in each others' offices all the time."

"It's fine," Theo said, without looking at her. "I was just going, anyway. Think about what I said, Hermione. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow." He didn't wait for a reply, brushing past Ron and pulling the door closed as he left them alone together.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to calm Ron down, and it wasn't until later that she caught herself wondering about Theo and his mother. The more she uncovered about her partner's mysterious past, the less she seemed to know.


	10. Chapter 5  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 5<strong>

Six years after joining the Auror program, the only real progress Theo had made was to get partnered with Hermione Granger. As he waited in her office, he reflected that things could have been worse. Never mind that being partnered with Granger (he refused to think of her as Granger-Weasley, his mind just wouldn't accept it) was a daily reminder of everything he wanted but could never have, it was still preferable to watching her from afar.

He could practically sense her frustration even before she made it back to her office, but then he'd known as soon as he'd seen the witness that she'd be as difficult as all the others they'd come across. Saint Potter and the Weasel never had such problems, grand war heroes that they were, but Granger had fallen through the cracks during her time in the Wizengamot, and he understood her frustration with the system better than she did.

She slammed the door upon entering the office, and he resisted the urged to smirk at her. "Better luck next time?"

Her fury was electric as she swore and turned to glare at him, and it took all the self-control he possessed not to bend her over the desk and have his way with her. He knew he shouldn't still be pining after her after all these years, but she was sexy as hell when she was pissed. "Merlin's bollocks, Theodore, I told you to wait!"

So it was Theodore, was it? He couldn't help the smirk, it was a natural response to her frustration. "And I was waiting," he said, waving a hand dismissively as the smirk faded. "My apologies if I prefer your office to what passes for my desk. It's quieter here, for one."

He hadn't really meant for it to be a dig, but he knew the second the words left his mouth that she'd take it that way. Her anger died abruptly, and she was left looking sad and defeated; he hated to see her that way, hated even more that he was the cause for her sudden self-doubt. "You might as well head out, it doesn't look as though we'll be accomplishing anything today," she said, and he could hear the emptiness in her voice. "She's more scared of us that she is of whoever killed her husband."

"You think she knows who did it." Theo watched her carefully, knowing he was right even as he said it.

"I'm almost positive she knows who did it. I may not be the people-person you are, Theo, but I'm not completely hopeless at reading witnesses." She sighed, flipping open the file, and he knew she was searching in vain for answers, knew she would spend all night in her office going over it again and again until she'd worn herself out.

"You're over-thinking again." The words came out before he could stop them, and he had to school his features before she jerked her head up to glare at him. Even as he smirked at her, he was berating himself for slipping, for coming so close to showing his concern, some trace of genuine feeling. She opened her mouth, and he expected some retort, but she closed it again instead, so he gave her something else to respond to, bread crumbs leading away from his misstep. "You need to take a step back."

It worked: he saw the temper flare immediately. "How can I take a step back when there's a killer out there somewhere?"

"We won't catch him any faster by you working yourself into a nervous breakdown," he shot back, with a shake of his head. It was the closest he'd ever come to hinting that he cared about her as more than just a co-worker. "You need to get out, relax, do something for yourself."

"I can't," she protested with a shake of her head. "It feels too much like giving up."

That she could still be so obtuse as to his real motives never ceased to frustrate him, but instead he managed to look smug as he drawled, "Merlin forbid a Gryffindor ever give up."

"Where's your Slytherin ambition, Theo? You should be wanting this as much as I do."

"Oh, I do, I assure you." The line in the sand he'd drawn himself so long ago was crossed, and there was a hint of innuendo in his tone that he prayed she hadn't caught even before he was finished speaking.

She looked away from him, and he knew he'd made a grave error, playing at such familiarity with her. The smart thing would be to leave while his dignity was still intact, and he uncrossed his arms, pushing away from the desk, fully intending to do just that until he caught her staring at the file yet again, and he found himself reaching for her hand instead. He heard her breath catch at the contact, knew the question was coming even before she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Helping you relax," he replied, his voice calm even though his heart was beating so wildly in his chest he felt sure she'd be able to hear it. Her hands were cool beneath his, and he massaged her palm gently, slowly working his way along her fingers. She had smudges of ink along the edge of her palm, and callouses from where her wand normally rested; he resisted the urge to trace the lines in her palm, the map of her personality, but he wasn't quick enough to stop himself from saying, "Your lines are so typically Gryffindor." A quiet murmur, after several minutes of silence, and the sound surprised her, made her jump.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, yanking her hand away. He could hear the offense in her voice, and once again the opportunity was there to just walk away, to forget everything that had happened and was happening between them.

The internal debate stretched out for longer in Theo's mind than the few short breaths it actually took, and finally he reached for her left hand. She initially resisted, but he arched an eyebrow at her in challenge, and she relented. "I'm not sure I should explain myself, given your predisposition toward all things Divination-related," he finally said.

Hermione's response was to snort and roll her eyes, and he smirked at her. "Oh, come on, Theo. You can't tell me you actually believe in that nonsense Trelawney was always saying?" He knew well enough what her opinion of their old Divination professor was, and it wasn't the first time he'd encountered someone who doubted the fickle arts he'd learned at his mother's knee.

"Trelawney? No." He could concede that much, at least, Trelawney was a crackpot even by wizarding standards, though he'd often wondered how much of her madness had been related to her gift. In her day, after all, Sybil Trelawney had had quite the reputation. "Not all of it is nonsense, though, especially if one has the proper instruction in interpretation." There were two sides to the Sight, his mother had often said. Those with the gift of vision, and those whose gift lay in interpretation.

Silence, again, and he could almost hear the gears in motion in her head, as she tried to figure out the meaning of his words, tried to fit this new piece of information into the puzzle that he presented to her. Finally, he let go of her hand, and she flexed her fingers, then looked up at him quizzically. "Theo?" He could tell that she was trying to decide what to ask him first, the indecision clear in the depths of her warm brown eyes.

Unable to face the questions, he looked away from her, murmuring, "My mother was a Seer." It was a secret he'd never shared with anyone, not even his wife of four years knew what had happened to her husband's deceased mother, and some part of him felt free at finally sharing with someone who had a chance of understanding what it meant. The rest of him was too busy wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, trying to come up with a plan in case it all came apart on him.

"Theo," she began, but whatever she was going to say was lost as her office door opened with a bang.

Of course, it _would_ be the Weasel. "'Mione, I-" Ron cut himself short as he spotted Theo, and his eyes narrowed. "Oi. What's _he_ doing in here?" The other man's dislike was practically tangible, and Theo met it with an impassive stare that he knew would infuriate Weasley more than the trademark Slytherin smirk.

Hermione let out a sigh, and Theo wondered if her husband could hear how tired she sounded, wondered if the man even cared about anything other than his own personal honor where his wife was concerned. "Ronald, Theo's my partner, remember? You and Harry are in each others' offices all the time."

"It's fine," Theo said, without looking at her. There was no point in trying to continue their conversation, they'd never be able to pick up all the pieces of that shattered moment, even if she _could_ get rid of Weasley, which he seriously doubted. "I was just going, anyway. Think about what I said, Hermione. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow." It was all the goodbye he could muster, after having come so close to revealing himself, and he managed to make it all the way back to his desk and then out of the building with that impassive look on his face.

Fortunately, Pansy wasn't home when he got there, so he was able to fall apart in blessed privacy, losing his temper in a way that he'd only ever done a handful of times in his life. By the time his wife finally returned home, he was once more in control of himself, and if he was more attentive to her than usual when they went to bed that night, she certainly wasn't going to complain, but all Theo could think about was that she still wasn't what he wanted.


	11. Chapter 6  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 6<strong>

Even if it wasn't always right.

Hermione knew, even before the test results came back with the first positive, that she was going to have a fight on her hands. Fleur and Audrey had been stay-at-home mothers from the beginning, Angelina had taken a leave after having the twins, and even Ginny had retired after learning she was carrying Harry's baby. The precedent had been set in stone: Weasley women stayed home with the children, regardless of their profession prior to pregnancy. She knew Ron hadn't given it much thought (he rarely did unless he absolutely had to), and she knew she should have talked to him before it came down to the inevitable. As much as she loved Ron (and she _did_ love Ron), she knew that without the proper discussion and preparation he would default to family custom, to tradition, to whatever his mother said. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife (Hermione knew he did), it was simply that custom and tradition and 'Mum says' offered the path of least resistance, and at the end of the day he was one of the laziest people she'd ever met. Most of the time, she found it endearing, it was only when the trait failed to work in her favor that she found it frustrating... like when the Healer had announced to the assembled clan (really, there _was_ such a thing as too much family, sometimes) that Hermione Granger-Weasley was pregnant.

The battle was a short one, mostly because Molly had enough tact to wait until it was just the three of them before starting in on her youngest daughter-in-law. Hermione politely thanked her mother-in-law for the concern and then told her quite firmly that it was none of her business whether or not she continued working after having the baby. Ron was silenced with a look from his wife, and she knew she'd have no trouble with him; there was nothing Molly Weasley could do to her son that could possibly compare to weeks of nights spent on the couch without the loving touch of his wife, and all three of them knew it. What Hermione hadn't prepared for was Ron's bringing it back up again afterward, not understanding why she was so adamant about keeping her job.

Harry's promotion, halfway through Hermione's pregnancy, offered additional stress, because it left Ron without a partner; he argued that if she wouldn't take an extended leave of absence she should at least agree to work with him so that he could 'look out for her'. She refused, causing another row, and he ended up staying with Ginny and Harry for the week it took him to realize that his wife wasn't backing down. It was clear that he was unhappy with her decision, though she often wondered how much of that unhappiness was due to her insistence on keeping Theo as her partner.

By the time her enforced maternity leave was over, Theo had settled into his office (she'd argued with Kingsley for three days that eight years in service to the MLE was more than enough time to have earned an office). She would never admit that she found his company easier to bear than that of her own husband, but after the difficulties of the last nine months it was unfortunately true. On the rare occasion that her partner expressed concern for her, he did so in a way that didn't impinge on her sense of independence; there was never anything overbearing about Theo, the way there so often was with Ron, and it often unnerved her how well he seemed to know her, especially since she knew so little about him.

The biggest surprise came when she brought Rose to work for the first time. She hadn't planned to come in at all that day, but she'd been working on paperwork at home and discovered that part of a file she needed was missing. Rather than call Molly to watch the baby while she went in for a few minutes (because it would surely result in a lecture at best and a shouting match at worst), she bundled them both up and went in to the Ministry. It was the work of just a few minutes to locate the file, and she'd had every intention of just slipping out as quickly as she'd come in, but she'd looked up from her desk to see Theo crouching beside the bundle of Rose and blanket that she'd carefully laid on the floor.

Time seemed to slow, and then halt altogether as she watched them look at each other, until finally he reached out with his long-fingered hands to pick the baby up off the floor. Hermione braced herself for her daughter's cry (Rose didn't take well to strangers), but it never came; she was less prepared for Theo's silken admonishment, "You shouldn't leave such treasures lying around, Granger."

She knew he hadn't meant it as an insult, but she couldn't help but bristle at it anyway. "I didn't just _leave_ her," she began indignantly.

He touched her hand, moving so fast she didn't even really see the movement, and she stopped so abruptly her teeth clicked together. "Relax, Hermione. I know you didn't mean it." His voice was smooth as silk and cool as water, a balm to her spirit after so long spent on the offensive, and before she knew what she was doing, before she had time to worry about such trivial things as right or wrong, she'd thrown her arms around his neck and started sobbing into his chest. Dimly, she was aware of the sound of the door closing, but it just made her cry harder, she who hardly ever cried, unable to articulate the source of her misery or why she'd turned to _him_ for comfort.

If he hadn't reacted, she might have been able to pass the whole thing off as stress or post-partum something-or-other, but after a moment he wrapped an arm around her, and as her sobs subsided he kissed her hair, murmured something she didn't quite catch but thought later was meant to be soothing. She tilted her head up to look at him, and froze at the expression on his face, a tenderness and caring she'd never seen him display before, not even to his wife. A little voice in her head was harping on that, reminding her that he was married, that _she_ was married, but she wasn't really listening, too caught up in the moment, and then she leaned up and brushed her lips to his, the faintest of kisses. She'd meant for it to be platonic, friendly, a gesture of thanks, but something sparked between them at that touch, and she could tell by the way his arm tightened around her that he'd felt it, too. It made her bold, daring, reminded her that she hadn't been a Gryffindor for nothing, and she took half a breath before pressing her lips to his again, more firmly this time.

For the span of a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, there was no response, and she had enough time to ask herself what the hell she thought she was doing. Then his lips moved against hers, and her thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind. She didn't know how long she stood there, clinging to him and kissing him as if her life depended on it, and there was no telling what might have happened if Rose hadn't made a noise. Just a small sound, but it snapped Hermione back to reality so fast it was almost painful, and she let go of him abruptly, rocking back on her heels and staring up at him in horror. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. She couldn't get the apology out fast enough. "Theo, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. No, I _wasn't_ thinking, I should have known better, I should never have-"

"Don't," he said, cutting her off with that single word.

He still had Rose cradled in the crook of his arm, and it struck her that he looked so _natural_ holding her child... she shoved the thought away before it could finish forming, rejecting it out of hand because it was wrong for her to have such thoughts, such feelings, when both of them were married to other people. She reached for her baby, chewing on her lower lip before finally saying, "I don't understand."

"No," he agreed, and his lips curved in a smirk that put any of Malfoy's expressions to shame. "I don't expect you to." He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek, and then sighed, shaking his head and stepping away from her. "There's plenty of blame to go around, though. And I'm _not_ sorry."

She stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "How can you say that?" she finally asked. "You're married to Pansy, I'm married to Ron, what happened was _wrong_, Theo."

If she hadn't been looking at him, watching him, she would have missed the flicker of hurt in his eyes, and afterward she wondered if she'd imagined it. He stepped toward her again, brushed his fingers across her cheek, and looked down at her with an intensity that frightened her. "It doesn't have to be," he murmured.

Everything snapped into place, all the pieces coming together to form a whole: the times he'd helped her at Hogwarts, his assistance with her house-elf legislation, the way he always seemed to be there when she needed him most. She felt stupid, for not having noticed it before, and ashamed, and embarrassed. Panic swept through her, set her into motion, and she pulled away from him, snatching the file from where she'd left it on the desk before bolting for the door. "I have to go."

"Hermione," he protested, though he didn't try to stop her physically, which was good because she knew she didn't stand a chance if he got his hands on her again.

"Goodbye, Theo," she blurted, without looking back at him as she pulled open the door. "Lock up for me, would you? Thanks." She was babbling, she knew it, and she knew that asking him to lock up for her was very uncharacteristic, but she couldn't face him, not until she'd had time to think, to rationalize, to plan so as not to fall apart in front of him again. Flight seemed a far preferable option, however un-Gryffindor it might be, and she prayed that she'd have enough time to get herself back together before Ron got home.


	12. Chapter 6  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 6<strong>

When Theo learned that his partner was pregnant, he nearly gave up on her altogether. He knew it was ridiculous to still be harboring feelings for her, anyway, knew he should have written her off when she'd married the Weasel, but he couldn't get his traitorous heart to cooperate with his logical brain. It wasn't a surprise to hear, through inter-office gossip, that there'd been a fight when she insisted on remaining at work, and he knew Hermione well enough to know that the rumors were true. She was keeping her job, the Weasel didn't like it, and she hated that it was such a point of contention between them. He knew, too, that she would have preferred for the whole thing to be kept quiet, but then there was really never any chance of that happening, not with who she was, who she'd married.

Halfway through her pregnancy, Potter was promoted to Under-Secretary to the Minister, just a step below Kingsley, a not-so-subtle hint to the whole of the wizarding world that Shacklebolt had every intention of having Potter follow him as Minister. By and large, the Ministry as a whole supported this decision, at least out in the open, but Theo was more concerned with Hermione. The Weasel had made the mistake of choosing a public forum for his argument that his wife should allow him to be her partner so that he could 'look out for her', and the entire department of Magical Law Enforcement was on hand to hear her refusal, the subsequent row, and the practically inevitable temporary separation. Theo half-expected a summons to Kingsley's office to be demoted in favor of Ron, but apparently the Minister had enough sense to let Hermione have her way on this one, especially since they worked so well together.

Shortly before Hermione's baby was due, he was finally given his own office, and while it was quite possibly the smallest one on the MLE floor it boasted a door that meant he finally had some modicum of privacy in which to work in peace. He celebrated the occasion by having Pansy drop in after hours and bending her over the desk, all the while fantasizing it was Granger instead, swollen belly and all. While he'd never entertained the possibility of having children with Pansy, he had to admit that Hermione was rather radiant even at nearly nine months pregnant.

During her enforced leave, Theo was relegated to work primarily on paperwork for other Aurors, and he knew better than to complain about this treatment. He was diligent and efficient, and even when Pansy stopped in to 'distract' him from his tasks he still managed to finish well before the established deadline. It worked to his advantage, because however much his coworkers might disapprove of his late father's political views and misdeeds, they were starting to run out of reasons to treat Theo as a second-class citizen, enough that even Hermione noticed when she returned to work.

He'd been in his office, filling out more paperwork, when he thought he saw her walk past the open doorway. Ordinarily, curiosity was not something that Theo indulged in himself, but he'd never been able to tell himself 'no' where she was concerned, so it seemed only natural to get up and walk to the door. There was no sign of her in the hallway, but he walked down to her office anyway, looking in when he found the door open.

She was hunched over, rooting in her desk drawer, but for once Theo saw something that drew his attention away from her completely: the small bundle on the floor that could only be the baby. Rose, he remembered, was the child's name, though he could barely see her with the way the blanket was wrapped around her. Just a few months old, the floor was the safest place for her, since the average Auror's office wasn't exactly child-friendly, and Granger's was even less so.

Theo was vaguely aware of Hermione straightening at the desk as he stepped inside, crossing to the child and then leaning down to pick her up. He marvelled at how small she was, how comfortable she felt when he settled her in the crook of his arm. There was a faint reddish cast to her curls, which were otherwise the color of her mother's, and when she opened her eyes to look up at him, he realized the girl was every inch her mother's child. "You shouldn't leave such treasures lying around, Granger," he murmured, without thinking of how it would sound.

"I didn't just _leave_ her," she began indignantly, and he realized he'd touched a nerve, hit upon stress she was likely already dealing with, between her husband and his family.

It took him all of two steps to close the distance between them, and he touched her hand, "Relax, Hermione. I know you didn't mean it." He'd meant it to be be something of an apology, but before he knew what was happening she'd thrown her arms around his neck and was sobbing into his chest.

With a wave of his wand, he closed the door, knowing that she was going to be embarrassed enough at having fallen apart in front of him. The rest of the department didn't need to know about it. For some reason, it seemed to make her cry harder, this woman who hardly ever cried, and the sound of it tore at his heart, shredded his resolve to remain aloof into ribbons.

After a moment in which his brain fought a losing battle against his heart, he wrapped an arm around her, and as her sobs subsided he kissed her hair, murmured, "It's going to be all right." She tilted her head up to look at him, and the tears on her face made him wish all over again that he _could_ make everything better for her. Then she did the unthinkable: she leaned up and brushed her lips to his, the faintest of kisses. After years spent secretly watching her, pining for her, it was the last thing he ever expected her to do, and something sparked between them at that touch, the way he'd always known that it would. Theo held her gaze, held his breath, didn't dare move for fear that anything he did would bring her back to her senses and make her bolt, but then she took half a breath and pressed her lips to his again, more firmly this time.

For the span of a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, he was terrified to respond, for fear that he'd end up sending her running, but then he realized that by _not_ responding he was giving her time to doubt herself, and he moved his lips against hers. It was bliss, the feel of her in his arms, and not even the rational voice yammering away in his head that both of them were _married to other people_ could spoil it for him. He'd wanted her for what seemed half his life, and was perfectly willing to spend the rest of it with her in his arms and damn the consequences.

Later, he reflected that he should have known it was too good to last. The baby made a small sound, and Hermione let go of him abruptly, rocking back on her heels and staring up at him, her expression one of sheer horror. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. She couldn't get the apology out fast enough, was practically tripping over the words as she babbled them out. "Theo, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. No, I _wasn't_ thinking, I should have known better, I should never have-"

"Don't," he said, cutting her off with that single word. He didn't want to hear apologies from her, didn't want her to be sorry, didn't even want her thinking that what they'd done was in any way wrong. How could it possibly have been wrong when it had felt so very right?

He still had Rose cradled in the crook of his arm, and she reached for her baby, chewing on her lower lip before finally saying, "I don't understand." Of course she didn't understand, she'd been too oblivious to him for too long.

"No," he agreed, smirking at her. "I don't expect you to." He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek, and then sighed, shaking his head and stepping away from her. "There's plenty of blame to go around, though. And I'm _not_ sorry." He couldn't possibly screw things up any worse at this point with that little bit of honesty, especially if he finally managed to shove her in the right direction.

She stared at him, and he knew she was trying to make sense of what he was saying. "How can you say that?" she finally asked. "You're married to Pansy, I'm married to Ron, what happened was _wrong_, Theo."

Even after so long spent watching her deny every clue, brush aside every hint, it still hurt that she failed to put the pieces together. He was so tired of pretending, so tired of living the lie, living the comfortable life he'd made for himself, and he stepped toward her again, brushed his fingers across her cheek, looking down at her intently even though he could see that he was beginning to scare her. "It doesn't have to be," he murmured.

Because he was watching her, he was able to pinpoint the exact moment when everything snapped into place for her, all the pieces coming together to form a whole. Her cheeks reddened, then the blush crept through the rest of her face, but close behind the embarrassment and shame was panic, fear of the unknown, and he wondered if it was because she was suddenly afraid of him or if she'd suddenly become more afraid of herself. Whichever it was, it set her into motion, and he wasn't surprised when she pulled away from him, snatching the file from where she'd left it on the desk before bolting for the door. "I have to go."

"Hermione," he protested, though he didn't move because he didn't want to scare her any more than he already had.

"Goodbye, Theo," she blurted, without looking back at him as she pulled open the door. "Lock up for me, would you? Thanks." That she was babbling was an indication of how panicked she was, and then she was gone, leaving him in the empty office.

Theo swore, raking his hands through his hair before stalking out of the office and pulling the door closed after himself. He stopped at his own office long enough to put the paperwork away before likewise slamming the door and heading home, and that night he stayed up long after Pansy had gone to bed, thinking of the woman he wanted, wondering how he could possibly salvage things so that he could finally _get_ what he wanted.


	13. Chapter 7  What She Needs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What She Needs - Chapter 7<strong>

She tried in vain to put a stop to it.

Hermione realized, once she arrived home with Rose in one hand and the file in the other, that her options were very limited where Theo was concerned. She couldn't take any more leave time, nor could she request a different partner, not without explaining herself to Ron, and she was reluctant to take that step. With all the stress they'd already been through, she wasn't sure their marriage could survive if she told him what had happened with Theo; it wasn't a lie, exactly, if she kept it from him, and it wasn't as if she was planning to let anything like that happen again.

She managed to avoid being alone with him for the better part of a week, long enough to convince herself that the whole thing had been in her head. After all, Theo was married to Pansy, and by all accounts their marriage was a happy one, so why would he want to ruin things by cheating on her with Hermione, of all people? It was inconceivable, impossible... it was all too real, as she discovered six days later.

To his credit, he was as subtle as ever, but now that Hermione knew that he fancied her she was more aware of him than she'd ever been. His words were laced with innuendo that seemed designed to make her blush at every opportunity, and she was annoyed with herself for falling so easily into his traps, time and time again. When they passed each other in the halls, or he handed her a document, he seemed to brush against her deliberately, as if he was looking for excuses to touch her, though that didn't explain why she felt an almost electric shock every time they came into contact.

By the following weekend, she'd finally had enough, and resolved to put an end to it once and for all. Most of their colleagues were out of the office, and Ron had taken Rose to the Burrow for the day. Hermione penned a memo to Theo asking him to please meet her in her office, and was unsurprised when it took him less than a minute to turn up. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me," she began, once the door was safely closed behind him.

"I'm wondering why it took you so long." That strange intensity was back in his eyes, and she pushed herself up from her chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the height advantage that he had over her.

"Theo." She sounded breathy and girly, and cursed herself for it, hated that he could do this to her, when not even Ron had ever done this to her. "Stop. Please." He was moving toward her, and she backed away until her back met the bookshelves that lined her office walls.

"You're afraid of me," he observed, his tone so damnably mild and still somehow seductive. She had no clue how he did it, how he could make her heart race and her knees weak just with the sound of his voice. It was completely unfair.

"I am not," she snapped, even though her own denial felt hollow. "Just... don't come any closer, Theo, I mean it."

"No, you don't. Not really." It unnerved her that he could see through her so easily. He stepped into her personal space, his hands coming to rest on the edges of the shelves to either side of her, so close that she could feel the subtle warmth of his body. "You're afraid of me, because of how I make you feel, because you seem to think it's wrong."

"It _is_ wrong!" she hissed, unable to work up the appropriate volume because his proximity was doing things to her that she would never have guessed possible. "You're married to Pansy, I'm married to Ron, he and I have a _child_ together!" The last came out sounding rather shrill and desperately hysterical, and she cringed inwardly.

She expected an argument (Ron would have argued), or at best a list of reasons why she was wrong. Rationale, logic, all of the things she'd come to associate with Theo, which of course was her mistake, because she'd forgotten how well he seemed to know her. His eyes were locked on hers, and she felt as though she could drown in the deep blue depths; before she had a chance to really register that they were a darker shade than she was used to seeing, he'd closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a gentle kiss, or at least that's what it started out as, the sort of kiss that could be backed away from, almost as if he was giving her an out. She would have taken it, too, if she'd had any sort of control over herself, but the second he touched her that spark leaped between them, and rational thought promptly took a holiday.

What started as a gentle kiss turned heated, passionate, frenzied, her hands curling in the fabric of his robes as she pulled herself closer to him, his hands on her back, then her sides. Lips parted, tongues met, and she swayed against him as her knees threatened to give way. It was more than just desire, want, she _needed_ him in a way she had never needed anyone or anything else, and the enormity of what she was feeling was dizzying. His lips left hers after what seemed an eternity, and she gasped for air, feeling bereft until she felt his breath on her neck, heard his voice in her ear, murmuring, "If this is wrong, then why does it feel so right?"

The words shattered what was left of her denial. "Theo," she whispered, her voice thready, and her hands scrabbled for purchase on his robes, seeking the buttons of his shirt. She was frustrated by her own lack of coordination, and then his hands were helping, and the too-many layers of clothing were falling away, until there was nothing between them but air, and then not even that. His skin was warm beneath her questing fingers, his body more muscled than she'd expected, but in a lean sort of way, like a swimmer or a runner; he had more scars than she'd expected, too, some of which she knew were injuries taken in the line of duty while others she had no explanation for.

Before she could ask him about them, he kissed her again, and instinct took over, shoving all thought of questions aside, the better to satisfy the raw, driving need for completion. He was gentle, at first, careful, as if afraid he might break her or damage her in some way, until she clutched at him desperately and demanded he get on with it already. She was only vaguely aware of the shelves digging into her back so hard she knew there'd be bruises later, too lost in the way he felt, the way he made her feel. By the time their activities moved to the floor, she was sated enough to make a slower exploration of his body, reveling in the way he reacted to her touches, her kisses; he paid her back in kind until she was wrung out and spent. Minutes passed in silence, save for their ragged breathing, and just when she'd thought herself recovered he whispered her name and rolled atop her again, making love to her slowly until she was once again clinging and crying out his name.

Hermione didn't know how long they lay together on the floor, limbs intertwined, before sanity finally came crashing down on her. The reality of what she'd just done knifed through her conscience, and she wrenched free of him with a strangled sob, flailing for her wand. He sat up and caught her wrists, twined his fingers with hers, and though she tried to pull away he was stronger than she'd expected - though a traitorous voice in her head reminded her that she should have expected it, given she'd just had her hands and mouth all over him. The thought brought a fresh round of tears, and another sob.

"Hermione." His voice was gentle, and beneath the concern she could hear a note of anguish, as if her reaction was wounding him somehow. "Stop. Look at me. Please."

She'd known him for years, but she'd never known him to beg, never before heard him plead with anyone for anything, _ever_. It was enough to shock her from her self-inflicted mental guilt trip, and she stared at him, surprised to find that for once his expression was all too easy for her to read. "Theo," she whispered, feeling guilty all over again for taking advantage of him.

"You're thinking again." It was an accusation, and she flinched away from it. "What will it take for you to realize we've done nothing wrong?"

"Of course we have." That he was willing to share the blame didn't make her any less responsible. "We're _married to other people_."

"What if that was the mistake?"

Hermione found herself staring at him again. "What?"

Theo made a face and a sound of frustration. "_Think_, woman! You admitted yourself that it felt right, and don't bother trying to lie that you didn't know what you were doing. What if our mistake was committing to other people, since we so obviously belong together?"

"No." Hermione's denial was immediate, and she pulled free of him and pushed to her feet. "I love Ron."

From the expression on his face, she might as well have cast the Cruciatus on him. "Don't say that," he whispered, pleading again. His face was pale, blue eyes bright with hurt as he pushed to his feet.

"I'm sorry, but it's true." She couldn't really remember a time when she _didn't_ love Ron, had loved him in some fashion ever since he and Harry had saved her from the troll, back when she was all of twelve years old. They'd had their differences, over the years, but the fact remained that there was a _reason_ she'd married him. She frowned, suddenly, considering him. "You don't love Pansy?"

Theo's laugh had no humor in it whatsoever. "Pansy and I have never been about love, no. We play our parts, in public, and she keeps her affairs behind closed doors."

"Affairs?" Hermione was shocked, and she shook her head, trying to fit all of the pieces together. "She sleeps with other men. And you approve of this?" No wonder he'd been so cavalier about his own infidelity.

"I don't care." The admission shocked her, but he wasn't finished. "I didn't marry her for love, or because I cared for her, or any of that romantic nonsense. I married her because it was convenient, because the woman I _wanted_, the woman I _loved_, was throwing herself away on some ignorant ginger-haired git who didn't know what he had!"

Stunned into silence, it took her a moment to recover herself, at which point she bent down and pawed frantically through the discarded clothing, looking for her cast-off garments. "I have to go home," she said, a feeble excuse but a justified one, as she started dressing hurriedly.

"Hermione," Theo protested, reaching for her.

Plucking her wand from the floor, she stood hastily, half-dressed, and pointed it at him. "Stay away from me if you know what's good for you, Theo." She took a step back, attempted to finish dressing with one hand, and was forced to tuck her wand behind her ear in order to properly get her clothes back on.

"Hermione, please." He didn't move, but his voice was pleading with her, his expression still open and honest... and somehow defeated, which made her feel even worse. "Please, don't do this. Don't cast this aside, don't cast _me_ aside."

"I have to go, Theo, this was a mistake." She finished with her buttons and finally forced herself to face him directly. Taking a deep breath, she added, "I. Love. Ronald." Each word was emphasized, each syllable made him flinch, but she refused to let it change her mind. She took another breath, and the hysteria faded somewhat, allowing her to be almost gentle when she said, "Get dressed, Theo. And lock up for me?" She paused at the door, long enough to make sure no one was in the hall who would be able to spot the naked man in her office, then headed out of the Ministry.


	14. Chapter 7  What He Wants

**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play with her characters on occasion.

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><p><strong>What He Wants - Chapter 7<strong>

All things considered, Theo had expected Hermione to avoid him longer than she did. It was one of her more frustrating habits, the tendency to run away from or ignore altogether things that disturbed her, and he knew she'd been disturbed by their kiss. When her avoidance was no longer possible, he made sure to add a subtle hint of innuendo to his speech, brushing against her when they passed in the hall or had to exchange documents, his pulse leaping every time they made contact. He knew she was confused by his attentions, by his interest, too used to the treatment her so-called friends had always given her to even realize how beautiful she was. It was one of the things he hoped he'd be able to eventually break her of.

Given his years of studying her behavior, he'd calculated the time it would take to wear her down, but he was surprised to find himself wrong, for once. She took almost twice as long to summon him for the inevitable confrontation than he'd initially suspected. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me," she began, not even bothering with pleasantries once he'd closed the door behind himself.

"I'm wondering why it took you so long." Theo advanced on the desk slowly, watching her intently.

Something about his expression must have spooked her, however, because she got up from her chair and started backing away from him. "Theo." There was a breathy quality to her voice, and he had to suppress a grin as he realized she was nervous because he was reminding her of their last encounter. "Stop. Please." Her protest was weak, and she almost squeaked with surprise when she backed into the bookshelves lining the wall.

"You're afraid of me," he observed, allowing himself a faint smirk of triumph. If he'd known she was the slightest bit attracted to him, he'd have kissed her years ago.

"I am not." Under normal circumstances, her words would have been snapped at him, but her voice lacked its usual authority. "Just... don't come any closer, Theo, I mean it."

That last sentence was an outright lie, and he couldn't resist calling her on it. "No, you don't. Not really." Her eyes widened in surprise, and he stepped up to her, set his hands on the shelves to either side of her, so close he was mere inches away from kissing her again. "You're afraid of me, because of how I make you feel, because you seem to think it's wrong."

"It _is_ wrong!" she hissed, her chest almost brushing against his as she tried to get enough breath to properly snipe at him. "You're married to Pansy, I'm married to Ron, he and I have a _child_ together!" The last came out sounding rather shrill and desperately hysterical, and he knew she was expecting an argument, knew that anything he said wouldn't really be listened to because it would fit her expectations.

He let the silence stretch, between them, knew that silence would make her uncomfortable because it wasn't a predictable response, his mind calculating the various ways he _could_ respond and how each of those responses would be received. His eyes were locked on hers, reading the emotions as easily as ever because she'd always been an open book to him, ever since Malfoy had first pointed her out, back in first year. Finally, he did what she would never have expected: he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a gentle kiss, or at least that's what it started out as, the sort of kiss that could be backed away from, because even now he wanted to leave her an out in case she wasn't ready. The second he touched her, though, it was as though an electric spark had passed between them, and he would have thought he'd imagined it if it hadn't been for her response.

What started as a gentle kiss turned heated, passionate, frenzied, and he could swear that the temperature of the room went up by several degrees as her hands curled in the fabric of his robes, his own hands stroking her back, then her sides. Lips parted, tongues met, and there was too much fabric in the way, too many barriers between them as she swayed against him. He held her steady, held her close, exploring her mouth until he was dizzy from lack of air and was finally forced to break the kiss. Panting, his lips moved to her neck, just below her ear, and he murmured, his voice husky with want, "If this is wrong, then why does it feel so right?" Because, so help him, nothing had ever felt more right.

"Theo," she whispered, her voice thready, and her hands scrabbled for purchase on his robes, seeking the buttons of his shirt. He could feel her frustration at the too-many layers, would have laughed if he hadn't been equally frustrated, and instead worked to help her rid them both of clothing, pieces of fabric falling away until there was nothing to keep them from each other. She was more beautiful than he'd ever expected, and he'd fantasized about her quite a lot over the years. Fewer scars than the average Auror, but then there'd never been anything average about Hermione Granger, and he traced one with reverent awe until he felt her eyes on the scars that marked his own flesh.

Before she could ask him about them, he kissed her again, felt again the way she came alive in response to his kiss, to his touch, and he tried to be gentle with her at first, tried to be careful, but the witch clutched at him desperately and demanded he get on with it already, using the most vulgar and crude language he'd never thought to hear her utter. Some part of him was concerned at the way her back hit the shelves with each thrust, but he was too far gone in his desire and need for her to really care, and she certainly didn't complain. After the first frenzied coupling against the shelves, he pulled her to the floor, cradled her and kissed her until she began a more thorough exploration of his body, for which he paid her back in kind until she was spent and limp from pleasure. Minutes passed in silence, save for their ragged breathing, and when he thought she was sufficiently recovered, he whispered her name and rolled atop her again, making love to her slowly until she was once again clinging and crying out his name - _his_ name.

It was bliss, it was perfection, and he held her close as they lay together on the floor, limbs still intertwined. He should have known it wouldn't last, should have known that common sense would rear its ugly head once more, should never have been foolish enough to believe for a second that she would choose him over the man she'd committed herself to. She stiffened, then wrenched free of him with a strangled sob that made his heart ache, flailing for her wand, presumably. He sat up beside her, caught hold of her wrists, and told his inner pessimist to shut up as he tried in vain to reason with her. "Hermione." He tried to make his voice gentle, tried to use concern to mask the agony her reaction caused him. "Stop. Look at me. Please." He'd never begged for anything in his life, ever, but he would beg for her if it would keep her with him.

She stared at him, utterly astonished that he would do such a thing. "Theo," she whispered, the guilt written all over her face.

"You're thinking again." It was an accusation, and she flinched away from it. He hated that his words were wounding her, but he was desperate to make her see reason, because otherwise he risked losing her for good. "What will it take for you to realize we've done nothing wrong?"

"Of course we have." The know-it-all conviction in her voice made him want to scream. "We're _married to other people_."

"What if that was the mistake?" He'd finally said it. He'd thought it for years, ever since he saw that cursed ring on her finger, and now he'd finally given voice to the thought.

She was staring at him again, as if he'd suddenly sprouted a third eye. "What?"

Theo grimaced and growled in frustration. "_Think_, woman! You admitted yourself that it felt right, and don't bother trying to lie that you didn't know what you were doing. What if our mistake was committing to other people, since we so obviously belong together?" It was the most risky, reckless, Gryffindor-like thing he'd ever done.

"No." Hermione's denial was immediate, and she pulled free of him and pushed to her feet. "I love Ron."

He felt the blood drain from his face, at her words, the metaphorical knife in his heart. "Don't say that," he whispered, pleading again as he got to his feet.

"I'm sorry, but it's true." The knife twisted, and Theo found it suddenly hard to breathe. She frowned, suddenly, considering him. "You don't love Pansy?"

If he'd been able to breathe properly, his laugh still wouldn't have had any humor in it. "Pansy and I have never been about love, no. We play our parts, in public, and she keeps her affairs behind closed doors."

"Affairs?" Hermione was clearly shocked, and she shook her head, trying to fit all of the pieces together. "She sleeps with other men. And you approve of this?"

He realized suddenly that he must have given her the wrong impression, mentioning Pansy's indiscretions so casually; it was another mistake, especially since he was almost certain Pansy herself had no idea that her husband knew about her little flings. "I don't care." His voice was hard, fury bubbling up to the surface now and kept on a short leash. "I didn't marry her for love, or because I cared for her, or any of that romantic nonsense. I married her because it was convenient, because the woman I _wanted_, the woman I _loved_, was throwing herself away on some ignorant ginger-haired git who didn't know what he had!" It was the last of his secrets, the last of the things he'd deliberately kept from her for so long, but he didn't feel better about having revealed himself, the way he'd always thought he would.

Silence stretched, gaped, and Theo realized that the response he'd always hoped for wasn't coming, realized she was trying to think of a way to let him down gently even now. Finally she bent and started pawing through the cast-off clothing on the floor, mumbling a hurried, "I have to go home."

It was a feeble excuse, and he realized she was playing the avoidance card again. "Hermione," he protested, reaching for her.

Plucking her wand from the floor, she stood hastily, half-dressed, and pointed it at him. "Stay away from me if you know what's good for you, Theo." She took a step back, attempted to finish dressing with one hand, and was forced to tuck her wand behind her ear in order to properly get her clothes back on.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, he tried desperately one last time. "Hermione, please. "Please, don't do this. Don't cast this aside, don't cast _me_ aside."

"I have to go, Theo, this was a mistake." The words twisted the knife a little more, drove it a little deeper, and he sagged against her desk. "I. Love. Ronald." He flinched at each syllable, as if she'd struck him physically, and he watched, stricken, as she headed for the door. "Get dressed, Theo. And lock up for me?"

She didn't wait for a response, didn't look back at him, and he watched in despair as the last of his hopes came crashing down around him. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to do something drastic and possibly tragic and final, but what little courage he'd managed to find to confess himself had drained him of energy, and he had nothing left. Only a broken, bleeding heart and the scattered ashes of dreams and fantasies. Ah, yes, and a life he'd never wanted, along with a wife he didn't love. The cast-off remnants of misplaced ambition.

**The End**


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